


A Renfaire Encounter

by TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy



Series: Tumblr Ficlets & Prompts [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But not your usual Mycroft, Crack?, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Not Really Crack, Renfaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 16:42:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13594173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy/pseuds/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy
Summary: Greg has to spend the night in a town in Sussex and encounters Mycroft in a place he had never thought possible.





	A Renfaire Encounter

There was much that could be said about the English countryside and some of it could’ve even been good. But as Greg dragged his mud-covered body from the ditches, he struggled to find even a single positive thing. At least he had caught the man that had been on the run from the police for two weeks. He had caved and asked Sherlock, who had figured out that the culprit had been hiding out with a distant cousin in this god-forsaken town in the middle of nowhere. Well, in the middle of Sussex… but still.

Greg watched as the local police pulled the handcuffed criminal through the field and into their car. One of them offered Greg a hand to climb out of the hole that was partially filled with water. He felt awful, but at least this outing hadn’t been in vain. One more murderer behind bars. But right now the only thing he wanted was a shower and a warm bed. The sun was already setting and he dreaded the drive back to London. He looked towards the small village and reminded himself that tomorrow was Saturday.

“Thanks,” he said to the man, who had helped him out of the dirt. “You wouldn’t be able to tell me if you’ve got any decent B&Bs in this town?”

“We sure do. Come on, let me take you to Hannah’s. No offense, but you look like you could use a bath and about 24 hours of sleep.”

“Thanks,” Greg said and pulled a face.

The other man laughed. “That was an impressive sprint, by the way. We thought he’d be gone for sure.”

“I may be old, but I’m not that old. Also Sherlock would have my head if I’d let the man get away, after he let himself down to consult on what he considered a mere three.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Now it was Greg’s turn to laugh. “Not important, mate. Just point me to the shower.”

\---

Oh, this was heavenly. Greg rolled over and pulled the covers more closely around his body. After a hot shower and a good dinner he had retired to the charming little room and forgotten all about murderers, ditches and Sherlock Holmes. He hadn't slept so well in a long time. Maybe there were some good things about the English countryside after all. And he didn’t even have to work that day! Just a few more minutes…

Just then he heard the beginning of a music piece that seemed to come from outside. He turned towards the window and caught a glimpse of a perfect blue sky. It looked like it was shaping up to be a wonderful early summer day. A glance at his wristwatch told him it was already past 10am. The music picked up to a lively piece with some sort of string instrument. Well, there was no harm in looking.

\---

Almost an hour and a hearty breakfast later, Greg was wandering through an assortment of tents and other fair implements, between people in costumes that seemed to have the time of their lives. The owner of the B&B had explained to him that the yearly Renaissance Faire was in town, and there was to be a celebration all weekend long. Greg never had the urge to visit such a festival before, but this was an opportunity to get the work out of his head properly. And everyone just seemed so happy on this warm day, it proved to be quite infectious.

Greg had wandered for about half an hour, tried some of the local delicacies and listened to a passionate speech about historically adequate armour. Everything considered, he was actually enjoying himself, he thought to himself with a smile. Maybe he needed to get out of London more often. Maybe--

“Mycroft, are you done yet?”

Greg whirled around into the direction the female voice had come from, but he couldn’t see anyone between the tents. Then a woman in an elaborate costume walked between them into the direction of the central plaza.

“I’ll be right there!”

A man ran after her, clad in a costume that looked just as intricate and regal. Greg had a glimpse of blue and gold and a pair of long legs in stockings. The short cloak was the last thing he saw disappear between the tents. No. It couldn’t be, could it? She had called out for a Mycroft. But surely there were other people named like that? Greg shook his head and reached for the small piece of paper in his trouser pocket, on which the programme for the day was printed. A sword fighting tournament and small theatrical display was to be held in just a few minutes on the plaza. Greg followed the crowd towards the action.

The people had set up a small stage with a few chairs, a throne and colourful decorations. They had also put up a fence around a round space in front of it. It looked exactly like out of the medieval films Greg remembered, where the lord would look over a display in his honour. He had to admit the fair organisers had gone all out on this, which delighted him somehow. But then a small man stepped in front of the stage and blew into a horn to get everyone’s attention.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome Mycroft Holmes, Lord of Ashdown Forest!”

A cheer rose up from the crowd as Mycroft stepped out onto the stage, carrying himself with all the grace of royalty. He waved magnanimously towards the people and did a slight bow as they clapped. Greg’s eyes widened as he took in the figure he usually knew to be clad in nothing but (admittedly very well-fitting) suits. Mycroft was wearing an ensemble that would put any 16th century nobleman to shame. His upper body was wrapped in a creamy white, silky, close-fitting jacket with golden buttons - the same colour and just as tight as the stockings underneath. While Greg had to giggle a bit at the short, poofy excuse of a pair of trousers, they were rendered in royal blue and golden stitchings and actually looked very regal. Just like the cape, which gave Mycroft an unmistakable air of authority. The costume was rounded out by a dark hat with a long, white feather, which bobbed as Mycroft sat down on his throne and nodded towards the announcer.

“Today we will hold a sword fighting tournament for the hand of the Lord’s daughter!”

A young lady walked onto the stage at his words, and Mycroft rose again to lead her to the seat next to him. She was wearing a more simple dress of red and gold, but looked every bit as regal as Mycroft himself, with her blonde hair stacked up high on her head and a large golden necklace. She seemed a bit nervous by the display, but perked right up as Mycroft leaned in and whispered something in her ear that made her giggle. Greg’s features softened at the gesture. He leaned against a tree, ready to take in the spectacle.

Several contestants fought against each other over the course of an hour, all obviously very versed in the art of sword fighting. Greg was impressed by the display, but his eyes drifted again and again to Mycroft, who was lording over the proceedings, drinking from what looked like a golden chalice and waving to the contestants with an air of superiority. From the look on Mycroft’s face, he seemed to be enjoying himself quite a lot. His face lit up with genuine smiles ever so often, and Greg felt a tug at his heart every time he caught one. Here was the same man he had known for years, but he seemed like a completely different person.

Finally, the contest was over. The winner - a man in dark clothes - stepped forward to the cheer of the crowd. He bowed towards Mycroft, who rose from his seat, took a look back at the woman next to him and then addressed the winner.

“I congratulate you on your skill, but I cannot, in good faith, hand my daughter over to a villain such as you!”

There was a collective gasp from the crowd. Greg grinned. They were really into this. But admittedly, he was just as anxious to see how this would play out. Here was the theatre part, then. He didn’t know Mycroft was into such things, but before today he hadn’t seen the man anywhere else than London, so Greg supposed there were many things he didn’t know about him yet. It gave him a small thrill to observe this spectacle, and he secretly hoped he could find out many more things about Mycroft.

“I won the tournament and I demand the hand of your daughter!” The winner said, his voice already angry. “You will hand her over!”

“Never!” Mycroft hissed.

He grabbed his cloak and tore it from his shoulders in a gesture so dramatic that Greg had to think of Sherlock’s coat whirl for a second and laughed. The cloak flew to the ground as Mycroft reached behind his throne and pulled out a sword of his own.

“I will not give up my daughter without a fight!”

With a swift leap, Mycroft jumped over the railing in front of him and landed gracefully on the lawn. He brandished his sword and jumped forward, but the other man parried perfectly. Well, of course he did. This was all rehearsed. But the way the two men traded blows and insults seemed just so lifelike, Greg was spellbound. To be frank, he barely saw the man in the dark clothes. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Mycroft, who moved with all the grace of a large cat. The sparkle in his eyes, the easy movement, the flex of his muscles.

Then it was over, as quickly as it had begun. Mycroft hit the other man’s sword to the ground and pushed him over. With the blade held to his throat, the so-called villain pleaded for mercy. And Mycroft, in his lordly grace, granted it, but told him to never show his face in his town again. After the man had run away, Mycroft bowed and the crowd erupted into a thunderous applause. Greg joined in the excitement as all actors returned to the lawn and did their bows to the crowd.

A few minutes later, Greg was standing between the tents, where he had seen Mycroft earlier. He figured he would return to where he had changed into his costume, and was relieved as the man himself turned the corner not much later. He looked so happy and carefree that Greg immediately felt bad when Mycroft all but froze on the spot as they locked eyes and all the warmth disappeared from his face.

“Inspector…” he managed to squeeze out. “What--”

“Don’t be alarmed, please,” Greg smiled and walked towards Mycroft. “I just wanted to say hi.”

Mycroft drew himself up to his full height and raised his chin. Greg thought he looked absolutely perfect in his costume and smiled, which was apparently the exact opposite reaction Mycroft had hoped for, as he sighed in response.

“What are you doing all the way out here?” Mycroft asked. “Were you following me?”

“No! I would never do that! It sounds like a bad excuse, but I’ve been sent out here for a case and it got pretty late, so I decided to stay the night… and well, this whole thing looked too interesting to pass up.”

Mycroft eyed Greg intently. “It doesn't seem like you’re lying. Can I count on your discretion then? I wouldn’t exactly want everyone to know that… well.”

Mycroft gestured to his costume, but that only had the effect that Greg’s eyes wandered downwards to Mycroft’s legs and lingered for a few more seconds than were entirely proper. Mycroft cleared his throat and Greg’s gaze shot up again, ears slightly red, only to meet Mycroft’s raised eyebrow.

“Of course,” Greg answered after he cleared his throat. “But now that you know why I am here, might I ask why you are?”

Mycroft hesitated for a fraction, but then he sighed. “I grew up near the village and have participated in this festival as long as I can remember. It’s a tradition I would loathe to part with. I try to be here for it as often as I can manage.”

“They loved you, you know?”

Mycroft looked to the side to unsuccessfully hide his smile. “I suppose.”

“Are you kidding? That display was awesome! I didn’t know you could fight with a sword! And you looked so gorgeous doing it, too!”

The words were out before Greg could help it. Mycroft’s gaze immediately snapped back to him and searched his face for… something.

“Sorry. I meant… I meant the costume fits you well,” Greg rambled, embarrassed. “It suits you. Especially the blue… it brings out your eyes. Oh god… I’m so sorry, I’ll just shut up.”

Greg looked up to see if had scared Mycroft off in any way, but got the surprise of his life as the man broke out into laughter. His whole body shook with it and there were even tears in his eyes.

“Gregory, I had no idea.”

“Well… I… Yes. Does that bother you?”

“Not in the slightest. In fact I would very much enjoy your company for the rest of the day, so you can tell me all about how this particular shade of blue suits me.”

Greg felt like a weight had been lifted off him. He locked eyes with Mycroft, who looked at him with a sparkle in his eye and a rather self-satisfied smirk on his lips.

“Now, if you’re to accompany me, we have get you into some historically appropriate clothes so you can help me to survey my domain.”

“If that would please your lordship,” Greg said, did a little bow and grinned at Mycroft.

“Immensely,” Mycroft replied. “Come one now, don’t dawdle. And if you’re good, you may continue your survey in my bedchamber tonight.”

“I’m about to be royally screwed, then?”

“Very funny. You’re lucky you’re cute.”


End file.
